War Games
by Imladviel
Summary: Maladict has a rival for Polly's love. He's a rupert and a werewolf - a combination that could be deadly.  New chapter - the childhood of the vampire twins! Maladict's dark past... in Quirm?
1. The die is cast

Four soldiers sat in front of a tent, playing dice.

Maladict threw the dice. They gave her a total of 20 points. She grinned. The game was going well.

Beside her, private Godsend shivered, disliking the sight of a vampire grin so close to her jugular, black ribbon or no. Maladict was fairly certain Godsend was female. The private had fooled everyone else. She was big and burly, she had a moustache she shaved every morning, and generally her fellow soldiers called her 'Burt'. Godsend was a slow thinker, but she got there eventually. But there was a certain softness about her shape, and a definite lack of adam's apple that gave her feminity away.

Private Shale, a troll, probably male, threw the dice next. They landed at 24 points – perfect score. Maladict groaned. She handed over the piece of paper that said on it that it was her month's wages – the pay was late again.

'Not so fast, corporal. I haven't thrown the dice yet.' The voice belonged to lieutenant von Bazoukin. He was a werewolf. Normally, a werewolf would feel uncomfortable in a vampire's presence, but with von Bazoukin and Maladict, the tables were turned. Von Bazoukin was a lieutenant, and he delighted in rubbing it in. And worse, he knew Maladict's secret. There was no fooling a werewolf's nose. To the rest of the company, Maladict was male. Von Bazoukin was an arrogant bastard who played the war game for personal gain. Maladict would rather have had nothing to do with the likes of him. But she'd die before asking for a transfer. Polly served as sergeant in this company. And Maladict… had come to realize she depended on Polly for many things.

Von Bazoukin tossed the dice. They landed at 23. He swore.

'A pity… I looked forward to winning a share in your wages, meagre though they are, corporal. Oh well. Another payday, another game.'

'I really wish you would not encourage the troops to gambling, sir.' The voice belonged to Polly, or rather, sergeant Perks at her most official.

Von Bazoukin tipped his hat to her. 'I do apologize, sergeant. We are done for tonight. Perhaps you'd like a little walk by the moonlight?' He suggested, grinning.

Maladict groaned. Another frustrating thing about von Bazoukin – he'd been sniffing around Polly a lot lately. She found herself wishing full moon would hurry along already.

'No thank you. I have work to do.' Polly walked off, rather hastily.

'There walks a fine form of a woman. I wouldn't mind getting more familiar with her…' von Bazoukin admitted, following her with his eyes. 'Beautiful wench for a sergeant, but damn is she cold as ice!'

Maladict knew he was baiting her. She remained silent as she collected the dice into their pouch.

'Hey, corporal bloodsucker, I'm talking to you! Wouldn't you like to get your hands on that lissome body of hers?' Von Bazoukin grinned, amiably on the surface. He reminded Maladict a lot of Strappi.

'My name is Maladict. I do not drink…the B-word. You know this. Why do you insult me, sir?' The 'sir' was spat out with some vehemence.

'Alright then… Mal. What do you think? Is the sergeant hot or is she even hotter? Too hot to handle?' von Bazoukin persisted.

'I find it is not my place to comment on the sergeant's appearance. It would not be appropriate.' Maladict put the dice in her pocket.

Private Godsend felt like expressing her profound insight at this moment: 'I think the corporal fancies her. He's always watching her.' She offered, with what might have been a giggle if it had come from a smaller person, but was more of a guffaw from someone her size.

Von Bazoukin laughed out loud. 'But of course! Maladict, don't deny it! You desire to profess your love kneeling down at her feet. You desire to make sweet love to her till sunrise.' He had found what he thought was a grand joke only he could get.

Maladict stood up. 'Thank you for the game.' She saluted, and walked away.

From behind her came the voice of Private Shale:

'Hit her onna head with a rock! Works for trolls!'

Maladict shook her head. This time von Bazoukin had truly hit a nerve. She would have to do something.

She spotted Polly talking to some of the new recruits. She walked over.

'What is it, Mal?' Polly asked, her voice puzzled.

'Come with me, sir.' Maladict reached out her hand towards Polly.

Surprised, Polly took the offered hand.

The next thing she knew, Maladict was holding her. They were rising high into the air. Maladict somehow made them both weightless. She finally landed them on a ledge in the mountain wall. There was no way up or down.

'What are you doing? Mal?' Polly asked.

'Sorry, sir. I needed privacy.' Maladict explained.

'For what?'

'I love you. There, I've said it, now you can yell at me.'

There were tears in Polly's eyes. 'Mal… oh, Mal…'

Maladict kissed the tears away. 'Polly, don't cry.' She hugged her tight.

'Mal… I love you too. I thought… I thought you weren't interested.' Polly wrapped her hands around Maladict's body.

'I was afraid… of being rejected.' Maladict kissed her sweetly. They lost themselves in a passionate exploration of each others' bodies.

Much later, as they lay on the mountain ledge wrapped in Maladict's cloak, Polly asked Maladict:

'Why now? I mean, what made you overcome your fear of being rejected?' As she spoke, she ran her finger down Mal's spine in a particularly thrilling soft movement.

Maladict looked at her, eyes full of a peculiar softness. 'I had to tell you, before someone else told you. The men know. Worse, von Bazoukin suspects.'

Polly shivered. 'Don't talk to me about von Bazoukin. He gives me the creeps.' She kissed Maladict again, softly, suggestively. Maladict allowed herself to be seduced.

It was well into the early morning hours when they returned to camp. Von Bazoukin waited at Polly's tent.

'Where have you been, Sergeant Perks?' He roared in his worst angered officer voice.

'I considered your suggestion and decided I would indeed like a little walk in the moonlight, sir. I took corporal Maladict with me.'

Maladict seemed to materialize from the shadows behind Polly. She flashed von Bazoukin a very pointy grin.

Von Bazoukin's nostrils widened as he caught the scent that hung thick in the air between the two females. He actually growled.

'Corporal, you're on guard duty starting now. Sergeant – I am disappointed in you.'

'Yes, sir. Permission to take my guard position, sir?' Maladict inquired, saluting smartly.

'Go!' It was plain von Bazoukin thought he would attempt tearing Maladict to shreds if she stayed any longer, so Maladict made her escape. It wasn't only black ribboner vampires who had to fight their nature. Maladict had seen von Bazoukin cut a man's head off, but he had done it with a sword, not his jaws, and for that kind of self-discipline, if nothing else, the werewolf was owed some respect.

Polly stood nervously in front of von Bazoukin. She knew, of course, what this was about. The werewolf had convinced himself he loved her, or at least wanted her. His clumsy flirting had been torturous to witness.

'Sir?' Polly asked, when von Bazoukin made no move to speak.

'Sergeant Perks… you have been with us three months now, correct?' von Bazoukin asked, sounding like any old Rupert.

'Yes, sir.'

'You do understand that our life on the move has its limitations. I understand the female sex is weak and emotional, but you have to control your… urges. You are supposed to be an example to the men.'

'Yes, sir.' Polly tried not to laugh at his choice of words.

'If I catch you again, you both will be reprimanded officially.' Von Bazoukin continued with the stiff, formal language.

'And speaking as a man… you could have chosen better.' he suddenly pulled Polly close, breathing in her face.

'Sir! Unhand me! This kind of behaviour is against the regulations.'

Von Bazoukin let go of her. 'Indeed. Make sure the corporal understands that, also.' With that, von Bazoukin walked off.

Polly entered her tent. She pulled off her boots and jacket and wrapped herself in the thin military issue blanket. She was sure she would be awake all night, but within moments, she drifted off to dreams filled with secret meanings.


	2. Playing the cards we're dealt

During the next two weeks, Maladict learned the hard way what it meant to be the romantic rival of a rupert. Von Bazoukin didn't stoop so low as to demote Maladict to private, but he found plenty of excuses to dock Maladict's pay – as if anyone was getting paid in anything besides I.O.U.'s – and to give the vampire the most unpleasant tasks to be found in a company on the march. Maladict was constantly digging latrine pits, chopping wood, and worst of all, helping the wounded.

Maladict wouldn't have minded helping the wounded, if she could have helped them from a safe distance. But von Bazoukin would have none of that. Mal had to change bandages and dress wounds, even hold a man still while his putrefied leg was being sawn off.

Maladict full well appreciated the idea that the wounded soldiers needed to be helped. What she did not appreciate was the blood. Blood stained her hands; blood crusted on her clothes… an eternal temptation for a reformed vampire.

Polly, of course, objected.

"You can't treat him like this, sir! You have no idea what you're doing! Do you want to have a bloodthirsty vampire on your hands?" She yelled at von Bazoukin. At this point, Polly's own sanity was cracking, and she was losing control of her actions.

Von Bazoukin's eyed glowed with malice. "'He' should have thought of that when 'he' joined the army. How did 'he' imagine avoiding blood on a battlefield?"

As she heard the invented commas click into place in a speech pattern oddly reminiscent of Captain Blouse, and yet different in tone, Polly knew her cause was lost. Von Bazoukin knew Maladict was a woman. And in von Bazoukin's book, losing to a woman was much worse than losing to a vampire.

Polly stormed off towards the infirmary tent.

"Mal?" She whispered in the doorway, knowing a vampire's hearing would catch the lightest sound.

A figure in a white, bloodstained apron, with something of the butcher about her person, disentangled herself from a surgery table.

"We've lost another one. Just tidying up. I told Igor we need to cut, but he said wait another day, and now it's too late." The company's Igor was not a genuine Igor with clan stitching and an ethnic speech impediment, just a common sawbones who'd taken up the name of Igor because it was good for business.

"Mal… how are you coping? I mean, the blood…"

Mal sat down on an empty bed. She took something from her pocket. A little pouch, filled with coffee beans. She raised the pouch to her mouth and poured some beans directly into her mouth, so as to avoid them touching her bloodied hands. Polly watched as Mal chewed them, wondering how many coffee beans a day counted as overdose.

When Mal was done chewing, she shrugged. "It's… it's still horrible. I thought I'd get used to it. Last night I came close to turning a dying soldier into a vampire, just to save his life. Or, I told myself I was going to save his life, but maybe it was the blood that called me."

"But you didn't do it. You overcame the temptation."

"Only because he spoke a prayer to Nuggan. I thought to myself, if someone is still foolish enough to believe in that loser of a god, he probably couldn't cope well with being an undead abomination."

Polly leaned down and kissed Mal on the lips, softly. Mal's breath smelled of coffee. Everything else in the tent smelled of blood.

"Come outside with me. Let's take a walk."

"I can't. I'm not due a break until fourth watch. Von Bazoukin's direct order."

Maladict's eyes were silently pleading for help.

"I'll sort this out." Polly promised her.

She walked outside, and found von Bazoukin playing Cripple Mr Onion with some of the men from the supply wagons.

"Sir, a word in private, if you please."

Von Bazoukin looked towards his gambling partners as if to say, 'see, the woman can't get enough of me.' Polly's stomach felt tight with revulsion.

Von Bazoukin wrapped an arm around Polly's shoulders as he led her away.

"You've come to apologize, have you?" He asked, leering. Polly fought the impulse to shrug off his invading arm.

"I've come to explain, sir. Or rather, to get an explanation from you. Why are you punishing Maladict alone? I am equally to blame."

"I have deliberated on this decision, sergeant. You fill a valuable function in my company. I would rather not have you burdened by unnecessary duties. It is enough that I keep you away from your inappropriate entertainment."

"Sir… may I speak to you for a moment as a woman, rather than a sergeant?" Polly asked in a sweet, guileless tone.

"If you must."

"Do you ever really listen to that pompous horseshit you spout at every occasion?" Polly shrugged off his arm and finally felt like she could breathe free.

"I beg your pardon?" Von Bazoukin looked aghast.

"You heard me. You heard me just fine, on account of you being a werewolf. You try so hard to be a human being, an officer, even a gentleman, that you fail to take into account the most basic things. Army regulations are not the answer to every conceivable situation. You have to think outside the rules sometimes. You specifically requested to have me in your company. Well, I didn't get famous by obeying every comma in the regulations. How about you listen to me for a chance, instead of ogle at me all the time? I don't have the right shape of body to be ogled at, nor the right shape of mind."

Von Bazoukin appeared, for a moment, to be choking on his own tongue. Then he roared – with laughter. He bent over double, laughing so hard it sounded painful. He finally straightened, and looked Polly in the eyes. "You're a strange girl, Polly Perks. A strange girl indeed. Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"Because you're afraid of yourself, Charles von Bazoukin."

He pulled her close, and attempted to kiss her.

Polly kneed him in the most painful part of his anatomy.

"Well?" Maladict was washing surgical implements in a bowl of water. The water was red. Polly was fairly sure surgery tools ought to be boiled. She made a mental note to mention this to Igor.

"It didn't go well." She told Mal what had happened.

Mal laughed aloud. "I should have liked to see that!"

Polly managed a wry grin. "He'll be even worse now."

Mal just grinned. "I don't care anymore. Next time he gives me an order, I'll tell him to stuff it where the sun doesn't shine!"

"That place in Lancre? Kind of a long way to go…"

"Polly, I love your youthful innocence."

"Oh… you meant like… oh gods. Is that wise?"

"No, but neither is this!" Mal raised something from the murky water. It was a saw. "I can't take much longer on infirmary duty. I have to get out of here, somehow. I'm getting desperate."

"I brought you some coffee." Polly raised the cup.

"Lifesaver, blessed angel, light of my dark soul… gimme that coffee now!" Maladict reached for the cup and drained it in one go.


	3. Place your bets

The company was ambushed again two nights later. It was near full moon, so von Bazoukin was not able to take command in any form in which his commands could have been understood by human beings. However, he more than made up for that by being a menace of teeth and claws, unstoppable in slaughter.

The company had been on the march for over a month since Major Bustle's tragic demise. The Borogravian army was retreating. The current officer count of the company was, quite simply: three lieutenants, two of them wounded. Von Bazoukin was in charge. And he hated being in charge of a company of cowards. He would have preferred a famous last stand, but he had his orders, and whatever his failings, von Bazoukin took orders seriously. They kept a steady pace, slowed down by their need to forage for supplies and von Bazoukin's insistence that no wounded be left behind. They had a long way to go – the offensive had begun well, and they had gained territory rapidly. The enemy now made ambushes, but lacked the resources for a massive full-on offensive. The enemy – The Principality of Free Human Überwald, a nation of speciesist extremists tired of being oppressed by the undead and outclassed by the dwarves – was currently winning, and yet found itself surrounded by enemies in most directions. Only the Zlobenians allied with the new nation, expectably perhaps – it was easy to subscribe to human supremacy ideals when the only nonhuman species they had to deal with were the Kvetch.

The battle of the ambush was chaos. Polly wielded her two cutlasses with some merit, her heart grown stone cold in the face of Death. Back to back with her, Maladict… went berserk. Polly could not see what happened behind her, but the death cries were enough for her imagination to fill in the details. Polly had never known Mal to fight like that before.

And then, suddenly, everything was silent. The remains of the company were surrounded by the dead and the dying. They had won. Mal wheeled around and grabbed Polly, spinning her in the air. "We did it, we did it! Who's your corporal! Give me a kiss!" She shouted, and pulled Polly close.

"Mal… you're covered in blood."

"Not mine."

"Still, you're covered in blood. Doesn't it bother you?" Polly couldn't help noticing the fallen enemy soldiers on the ground. There were more than she had expected.

Mal shrugged. "I guess the infirmary duty did have some effect." She chuckled. "But since you insist, I will have a bath. Last one at the river is a monkey-grinder's organ!"

Mal won the race. She was submerged in the chilly water when Polly made it to the river. Polly undressed and joined her, shivering all over. A splashing match ensued, followed by underwater wrestling that soon turned into something else. On the bank of the mountain river, shielded from view by a wall of tall reeds, Mal renewed her claim on Polly's body and heart. There was urgency to her lovemaking, and need born of despair.

They returned to the camp in their shirtsleeves, their uniform jackets soaking wet from a hurried washing. They held hands, and Polly's eyes held a sad, pensive look. If only it could be this simple all the time…

And as if summoned by the idea of complications, von Bazoukin stood in front of them in the path.

"Corporal, you are needed at the infirmary. Sergeant, I want a full report."

"Stick it up your jumper, sir. If a hand at the infirmary is really needed, I will go. Mal can give you the report." Polly made to stride off. Von Bazoukin's hand stayed her.

"I am not used to my orders being ignored."

"And I am not used to being given orders by complete idiots." Polly folded her arms.

Von Bazoukin was turning red in the face. He could smell, once again, that very feminine scent surrounding the pair of miscreants.

"You will do as you are told, sergeant Perks, and you will not insult a superior officer again!" He yelled.

Mal's sword was out in a flash. Its tip touched von Bazoukin's throat. "Call this mutiny, lieutenant, if you must. I have exhausted my supplies of patience. You and I will have this out, now, vampire to werewolf."

"You dare… you dare pull a sword on me?" Von Bazoukin unsheathed his blade. It was shining clean, unstained by the night's battle.

"En garde, Charlie." Mal struck a pose that could have been directly from some manual of gentlemanly swordmanship. Polly groaned. Von Bazoukin grinned a nasty grin. His sword touched Mal's, a quick nod to the traditions of duelling, and then he attempted a sneaky wrist movement to disarm his opponent.

But Mal wasn't there anymore. Mal was behind von Bazoukin. And the behind of von Bazoukin's trousers was suddenly cut open, revealing woolly underpants. Von Bazoukin roared with anger, turned, and made his second mistake. Mal jumped, and decided to ignore the laws of physics. She rose unnaturally high, then came down slowly, in her own time, and kicked von Bazoukin in the jaw.

"Fight fair, you godforsaken deserter!" Von Bazoukin roared. He slashed at Mal wildly. Mal's sleeve was cut, and bright red drops of blood flew out in an arc. Mal was on the defensive, backing away in front of von Bazoukin's frenzied attack.

And then Mal vanished again. And reappeared behind von Bazoukin, kicking his backside so hard he lost balance and fell facedown in the mud. Mal disarmed her opponent.

They had by now gathered a sizeable crowd of witnesses – the whole company was there, and I.O.U.'s exchanged hands as various bets placed during the duel were being paid. Von Bazoukin was far from popular, and the general consensus seemed to be that Mal had given him his just desserts.

"You showed him, corporal!" called out Private Godsend, who had lost all her wages to von Bazoukin the same evening over a game of cards.

"Hit him onna head with a rock!" Suggested private Shale, but this was his advice in most situations.

Slowly, von Bazoukin stood up. "You shall be subjected to a full court-martial once we're back with the main army." He walked off, somewhat stiffly, and his departure was heralded by laughter as the soldiers saw his woolly underpants. They were striped with yellow.


	4. Pawns and players

Mal paced around the cell. It was her fourth day without coffee. As soon as the company had rejoined the main camp, she had been locked up. She had been treated civilly, all things considered. No one had beaten her up; no one had spat in her scubbo. But the guards refused to give her coffee. The world was getting blurred on the edges, and she was taming imaginary birds.

She could have turned to mist and escaped. But where to? Her life was with the army now. And besides, there was still hope. She was getting a court martial. There was a chance of justice being done.

Someone was at the door. "A visitor for you, corporal."

The door was opened. Mal's heart missed a beat, hoping, dreading…

It wasn't Polly. Darkness descended again.

It was von Bazoukin.

"Well… today's the day. It has been decided that when you are sentenced to death, you shall be executed with a wooden arrow through your heart, and then beheaded. Your ashes will be locked up in a bank vault." von Bazoukin told her conversationally.

"You mean, _if _I am sentenced to death." Maladict could not resist correcting him.

"When. You don't stand a chance. Assault of a superior officer, in front of witnesses. The precedents are quite clear."

Maladict's dark eyes looked on him, calculating. "We shall see. Why are you here?"

"I just wanted to see you. Nothing wrong with that. And my gods, you look a mess. The general will take one look at you and decide you're completely deranged."

"General? Which general?" Maladict asked.

"Froc. He's dealing with this himself. Expect no mercy. Froc takes the book of regulations very seriously."

"Why Froc? Surely a lesser general would be enough?" Maladict queried.

"Some bigwigs from Ankh-Morpork and Batsreich have taken an interest."

"Batsreich? What's that? I don't get news here."

"It's what the vampires' slice of former Überwald has been calling itself for… a day and a half. They've been allied with Borogravia for all of four hours. But don't expect them to rush to your resque. They have nothing to gain by helping you, and a lot to lose."

The political situation of this corner of the world was in a changeable state. It had started with a group of humans finding an enormous treasure of gems in a Dark Temple from the days of the Unholy Empire. They had decided they had had enough with undead government, and hired an army of mercenaries who specialized in exterminating vampires and werewolves. There had been a rebellion, an uprising of people, and the Republic of Free Human Überwald had become its own nation. The vampires had formed their own nation, which had instantly become a nest of plotting and counter-plotting, changing ruler and name on a weekly basis. The werewolves hadn't sat idle, they'd declared their own regions of strength independent and now called themselves the Moon Kingdom. The humans were at war with the vampires and werewolves, and the latter two groups were also at war with each other. The dwarfs hid underground and sold weapons to all three armies. Foreign nations were taking sides.

Von Bazoukin left, leaving Maladict to ponder her fate. She hadn't seen Polly at all during her imprisonment. She suspected Polly hadn't been allowed near her. On the windowsill, a bird that wasn't there sang an inane, cheerful tune. "Shut up." Mal told it.

Lord Vetinari looked at Lady Margolotta over a game of Thud!. He moved a troll.

"Remind me again why we are going to spend the afternoon watching a court martial?" He asked casually.

"The accused is of interest to my nation." Lady Margolotta moved a dwarf.

Vetinari studied the board carefully.

"Because he is a vampire?"

"That, and other things. You shall find out soon enough."

Vetinari moved another troll.

Lady Margolotta's eyes narrowed.

"We should get going."

They stood up, and left the table.

The court martial was being held outside, in an open field. General Froc called for order.

Von Bazoukin spoke his accusation:

"He pulled a sword on me! I have witnesses on this. I gave him an order, and he pulled a sword on me and attacked me."

Major Clogston, who was acting as Maladict's defense, spoke up.

"Yet you appear unharmed, Lieutenant. Did you seek medical attention after the attack?"

"I didn't need medical attention! Corporal Maladict is no good with a sword! I defended myself until he gave up."

"I would like to interrogate one of the witnesses. Private Godsend, please."

Private Godsend stood up.

"Did you witness the attack? Please describe it." Clogston asked.

"Yeah, well, sir. I saw most of it. The corporal was taunting the el-tee. He was everywhere at once. But he didn't hurt him, he just cut his clothes. He cut open the arse of his pants." Godsend sniggered.

"You mean, corporal Maladict cut open the lieutenant's pants?"

"Yessir."

A couple more witnesses were called, and they gave the same testimony.

"Well, lieutenant Bazoukin, we have here some witness statements that contradict what you said earlier."

"It doesn't matter. They all witnessed that Maladict attacked me. That is the subject of this inquiry. I demand that you punish him!"

"But none of the witnesses actually describe how the attack started. Sir, may I interrogate sergeant Perks?" Clogston asked, addressing herself to General Froc. Froc nodded his assent.

"I object! The sergeant is biased on this! She has been having an affair with the corporal." Von Bazoukin shouted.

"Objection overruled." General Froc waved his hand for Clogston to continue.

Polly entered the 'stage'. Mal's eyes were on her, drinking in the sight of her loveliness. Her uniform looked neat, spotless in fact, all the braid and buttons shining. Her hair was carefully combed.

"Sergeant Perks, can you tell me what happened?"

Polly gave an account of the events, truthfully, leaving no detail out. She spoke on at length of von Bazoukin's treatment of Maladict and of Maladict's bravery in that night's battle.

Christine Clogston asked her no further questions, and sent her away with thanks.

Then Clogston interviewed Maladict.

"What is your version of the events, corporal?"

"Sergeant Perks told you the truth. I was being harassed, and I could not take it anymore. Also, the lieutenant had no justification for punishing me." Maladict's eyes looked haunted and out of focus.

"Thank you, corporal." Clogston turned to von Bazoukin:

"Why _did _you punish corporal Maladict?"

"He broke regulations repeatedly, sir."

"Which specific regulations?"

"224, 34b, and 87, sir."

Clogston opened the book of regulations. "Let's see… 224… one of the new ones… male and female soldiers can't share a tent or other lodging… 34b, proper decorum while in uniform, shows of affection… 87… oh, that one. Lieutenant, I assume you are referring to the corporal's relationship with sergeant Perks?"

"Yessir."

"That brings up another interesting topic. Do you think the corporal challenged you to a duel for the sake of the affections of a lady?" Clogston asked.

"I assume so." Von Bazoukin looked puzzled.

"That is fascinating, because I have here several precedents – cases where an officer has challenged another officer to a duel, and one of them has died, and no military punishment has been meted on the survivor. It has been a common practice to assume that all soldiers fighting duels are doing so not as soldiers, but as private gentlemen, and that their affairs are no concern for the army." Clogston handed some paperwork to General Froc, who browsed them carefully.

"I object! A corporal is not an officer!" Von Bazoukin yelled.

"That actually has no bearing on the matter, for you are both gentlemen of equal status."

General Froc frowned. "It would seem to me, Clogston, that this was a case for a court martial because corporal Maladict defied orders. We can't simply let it pass, it would set an unfavourable precedent." She paused. And was interrupted.

Lady Margolotta took the floor.

"General, may I speak? I may have a solution for your problem."

"By all means, your ladyship." Froc gestured at her to begin.

"The corporal is known to me. And he is not a citizen of Borogravia. He was born in Überwald. As such, I see no reason why a Borogravian court martial should decide his fate."

"Your ladyship, he did enlist in the Borogravian army. That makes him subject to the regulations, and the consequences for breaking them."

"I really must insist. The corporal stands to inherit enormous wealth and power. He is no mere pawn, and it is time he took his place as a player in the game of thrones. Ladies and gentlemen, I present you my son, Maladict Damone Carnelian Lamarck Abbadon von Überwald."

Whispers rustled through the crowd. Polly stared at Lady Margolotta in disbelief. Maladict appeared unsurprised.

"You're saying, your ladyship, that this man is your heir?" General Froc queried.

"I am saying that, indeed." Lady Margolotta folded her arms.

"Well, in that case… this court cannot wield power over an heir of the Batsreich throne. I proclaim corporal Maladict von Überwald cleared of all charges."

Maladict smiled, just slightly. "That is very gracious of you, sir. May I have some coffee now?"

Then she fell over backwards.


	5. A game of soldiers

Lord Havelock Vetinari was staring at the page in Almanack De Gothic, the ultimate guide to the nobility on the other side of the Ramtops. "Drumknott, it says here her ladyship has two sons and a daughter. None of the children have ANY of the names I heard at the court martial."

"Why don't you just ask her, your lordship?" Drumknott ventured.

"Drumknott, you are new to diplomacy, so I forgive you your ignorance. One does not ask these things."

Maladict lay on a bed. That was the first thing she realized when she woke up. The second thing she realized was that there was something in her mouth. She took it out. It was a coffee bean. She turned to look at the figure beside the bed. "You weren't sure, eh?" She asked Polly.

"Better safe than sorry. By the way, your mom is rather frightening."

Maladict groaned. "She's still here?"

"I take it you're not close?" Polly asked.

"Well… I was told she had disowned me, so no."

"What for?" Polly studied Maladict's features, trying to see Margolotta there. There was almost no trace of her mother in Mal. Only the height – shorter than most vampires. And perhaps… something in the eyes.

"Dressing like a man and chasing milkmaids."

Polly chortled. "Milkmaids? Really?"

Maladict sulked. "Don't laugh. I was bored."

"I'll make you some coffee."

Maladict instantly got up. "You are useless at making coffee, Polly. I will make my own. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me."

Polly looked her up and down. "You might want to put on some clothes, though."

Mal glared at her. "So go and find my uniform."

Polly gestured at the uniform hanging on the wardrobe door. "It's over there…sir."

Maladict stared at the uniform. "That's never mine. That's a lieutenant's uniform. What is some rupert's uniform doing in my bedroom?"

"They promoted you, Mal. I mean, sir. They said a man of your lineage has to be officer material." Polly's eyes glinted mischievously.

Maladict groaned again. "Typical. Did they have the foresight to make you my sergeant?"

Polly grinned. "Well, von Bazoukin told them he wanted me out of his company. So yeah, I'm your sergeant now… sir."

Maladict rolled her eyes, ignored the uniform as if it had offended her somehow, and began making herself some coffee.

There was a knock on the door. Polly went over and opened it just enough to see who was there.

In the hallway stood a Batsreich soldier, rather nervous. "Is ze lieutenant decent?" He asked.

"Not really, but he's awake and conscious and rather annoying." Polly told him.

The soldier's eyes widened. "Ze Lady Margolotta vishes to see him."

"I shall inform him." Polly began to close the door.

"She vishes to see him nov. In ze library. You must tell him it is urgent."

"I will." Polly closed the door. "Mal, your mom wants you."

Mal shivered. "I heard. Do you think she will have coffee?" She asked as she began putting on the uniform.

Polly had to admit Mal made a dashing lieutenant. The uniform looked splendid on her and brought out the noble qualities of her features. Mal spent several minutes admiring herself in front of the mirror, much to Polly's annoyance. "We should get going." She reminded her.

"_I_ should get going. You're not coming with me." Mal told her brusquely.

"Like hell I'm not!"

"I have my reasons. I will not give my mother another card to play against me." Maladict pointed out.

"She already knows, Mal. It was hardly kept under wraps during the court martial."

"She knows we are an item, yes. But I would rather she didn't know how deeply I feel for you." Mal kissed Polly on the lips, gently. Then she was out the door, leaving Polly bewildered and oddly pleased.

Lady Margolotta had a map spread on the table in front of her, covered in little soldier figurines symbolizing armies. The red of the Borogravians was surrounded by enemies on two sides and the soldier figures were facing away from the battle lines – armies on retreat. She looked up when Mal entered.

"I take it my congratulations are in order." Margolotta spoke formally in Überwaldean, rising to meet her daughter.

"Cut the crap, Maman. You never wanted to see me again. You don't need to pretend for me."

Margolotta's eyes grew hard and cold. "Demonique Maladicta Carmille Lamiana Absinthe von Übervald, never presume to tell me how I feel again."

"Then how about I tell you how _I_ feel, Maman? You didn't even bother to tell me you had disowned me. I learned that from common gossips. You had my pages removed from the Almanack de Gothic. It was as if you never had a younger daughter. It was as if you didn't want me to exist."

"Demonique… I never disowned you. You're the one who vanished without a trace. I was told you were ashamed of me."

"Me, ashamed? Then you were told lies. And I think we both know where those lies came from." Maladict turned to face the window. "And don't call me Demonique. I am Maladict, now."

Margolotta stepped up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You've become a splendid man… my son."

"Then… you approve?" Maladict was startled.

Margolotta laughed, a rich, dark sound. "At my age, one has learned the world isn't black and white." She pulled a cord, and a servant entered the room, bringing a tray of coffee. Maladict breathed in the smell.

Margolotta watched as her daughter drank the coffee with feverish enthusiasm. "So… we come to discuss… the future." She said finally.

"The future, Maman?" Maladict looked over the rim of the coffee cup.

"Your siblings have proved to be a disappointment. Your brothers are currently recuperating, and I do not anticipate them to return to action anytime soon. As for your sister…"

Maladict put down the cup. "I would rather not speak of Dominique." The plate clattered in nervous fingers.

"Neither would I. But this needs to be said. She wants me dead. And she has allies among my enemies."

"You have never needed my help before. Just have her killed."

"That is not what I need you for. I am the leader of our new nation. I need to have an heir."

"Stuff that. I'm perfectly happy where I am."

"Bigger things than your happiness are, shall we say, at stake. I ought to remind you that without me you would now have been executed for assault of a superior officer."

"Froc wouldn't have gone that far, and besides, I've been dead before and I got over it."

"Enough! You will do as I say, or bear the consequences."

Maladict stood up. "It was nice to see you again, Maman. My duties now demand my presence elsewhere. Thank you for the coffee." She bowed stiffly, and departed.

Margolotta picked something from the floor. A fallen soldier figurine in a red uniform. Her pet rat had been chewing on it, so it was in bad shape. She placed it beside the map. Then she spent another half an hour reading reports and moving the figurines accordingly.


	6. Sibling rivalry

Demonique and Dominique were nine years old. They were twins, and even their mother regularly mistook them for each other. Dominique used this to full advantage. Whenever a pet was found drained of blood, or a servant suffering from a sudden fainting spell, Dominique was the guilty one, but she was so good at acting innocent that it topped Demonique's act, which wasn't properly practiced because Demonique really was innocent. Besides, their mother, Lady Margolotta, was always busy with important letters and parties and people the children weren't allowed to see.

Dominique spied on the secret messengers, always making sure to wear Demonique's dresses. And so, once night, Dominique turned up in Demonique's room.

"Wake up, stupid-sister! Whoever heard of vampires sleeping at night?" She complained, kicking her sister's coffin.

Great wings seemed to surround Dominique as her sister descended from her perch in the roof beams. The cloak caught Dominique's arms, and was knotted around them deftly. "Only fools sleep in a coffin." Demonique countered. Dominique struggled in vain against the bonds – she hadn't learned to transform yet. That cloak thing with the wings – she had to admit it had been impressive. Dominique was secretly envious of Demonique. Demonique got the better name, Demonique was impossible to take by surprise, Demonique always won when they fought.

"Now, sister-mine, what brings you here... _into this dread tomb_?" Demonique asked, and her voice almost made Dominique shiver. Dominique's voice was thin and reedy, the best she could do was whine at adults in an annoying fashion. But Demonique's voice... it sounded so grown-up sometimes. It sounded like a boy's voice.

"Let go of me! They're sending us to Quirm! I heard Mother and Mademoiselle Lambert talking about it! They're sending us to a school for humans! To make ladies of us!" Dominique was furious. How dare her sister treat her like this, capture her, humiliate her? Of course, Dominique had done worse. But you'd think Demonique would get the message by now. You'd think she'd give up, realize she couldn't beat Dominique. Except, of course, that she could, couldn't she?

Demonique released her sister. "Interesting. That, I think, shall be very entertaining. I doubt they will succeed. They might as well try making ladies out of bears."

Dominique rubbed her aching wrists. Someone would die tonight, to pay for this pain... "You're actually going to go along with it? You're actually going to pack your things and go to Quirm when they tell you to?" She asked, amazed. Of course, Demonique had always been the obedient one... but even so... what was Quirm, that they should leave their beloved Überwald to go there? What could humans teach them?

Demonique grinned. "Indeed. There aren't many vampires in Quirm. And that, sister-mine, means no garlic at the windows, no holy symbols around the necks of children... that, sister-mine, means we will feed well. But never at the school, sister-mine. Mother will forbid us to feed at the school. No one must suspect a thing."

Dominique's eyes widened. Demonique, curse her clever mind, had a point. They were nine years old... but already they knew the thrills of hunts... and of kills.

The next day, their governess, Mademoiselle Lambert, instructed them that they should from that day onwards address their Lady Mother only in Quirmian. This was done so that they would become practiced in the language that would be their spoken language at the Quirm College For Young Ladies.

Dominique, being her usual petulant self, harldy spoke to their mother at all during the next three months. Demonique, by contrast, spoke in Quirmian to everybody, and was soon on the level of a native speaker. Inside, she seethed at her mother for placing such limitations on her, these last months the family would be together, ans she wowed that when she got back from Quirm, she would always address her mother as Maman, to remind her of what she had demanded.

And so they went to Quirm. If the teachers at the school knew the two new students in first grade were vampires, they made sure not to mention the fact to anyone. Demonique and Dominique got absolutely hideous school uniforms, a note each from their mother excusing them from all athletics lessons taking place outdoors, and beds in a dorm room. Their mother had taught them not to need coffins for sleeping. She had taught them to endure moderate amounts of sunlight. She had taught them to not be shocked by holy symbols, and even taught them how to digest human food that contained garlic. Their childhood had never been easy.

Dominique slept in her dorm bed, exchausted after days spent trying to understand things in Quirmian. Demonique could be found in her bed whenever the matron came calling, but she didn't seem to do much sleeping anywhere. The rumors in the City began to speak of a demon child who appeared to criminals at night and drank their blood. Old vampire stories were remembered. But no one connected the child with the College – the child was obviously a little boy, a beggar boy with a felt cap on his head, on that all the gossips were agreed on.

One night, in their fifth year at the school, Demonique was just tossing her disguise into the stable hayloft, when she became aware of someone watching her. It was Dominique, of course.

"You've got blood on your cheek, Demonique." Dominique leaned closer and licked Demonique's cheek. "Human blood. You must let me hunt with you, or I will tell the teachers."

Demonique shook her head. "Since you've tasted it and all, you know I've hunted already tonight. And I won't hunt again until next week. If you can curb your hunger until then, then yes, you can hunt with me."

Dominique pouted. "Very well. But you shouldn't act so superior. I can do this, now." Dominique turned into a bat and flew up to the hayloft. There she took her own shape, and put on Demonique's felt cap.

White mist flowed from all sides, and suddenly Dominique found it hard to breathe. The mist turned into the form of her sister. "Sister-mine... I will always be one step ahead of you. I drank our father's blood, when I was three years old. And our father, of course, is ashes now. Where shall you find this power?" Demonique laughed. The felt cap was on her head, covering her long hair, and she looked like a boy, in as much as all little boys look like fiends from hell.

Dominique stood trembling. "You... you went into my lungs! You... I have no words! I shall drink your blood... one of these days I shall catch you unawares and drink your blood, and then I will have your powers and mine."

Demonique just shook her head. "Sister-mine, it is the simplest principle of tactics not to reveal your intentions to your enemy. Then again, you can't keep up with the tactics classes because you never took time to learn Latatian. Considering that it is only for our sake that our Lady Mother convinced this backward school to teach tactics in the first place, I daresay you could make some effort."

They were fourteen years old... but already they were being honed to rule over nations.

Dominique bristled, but found no sharp retort. Her time would come... perhaps today, in fencing class?

Polly listened to Maladict's story. "And what happened in fencing class?" She finally asked.

Maladict chuckled. "Oh, the teachers never let us face each other, not after the first time. She cut some girl's ear off that day, I think. There was a lot of parental complaint about that, even though the doctors managed to sew it on alright, and the stitches hardly showed."

Polly decided not to pursue this line of investigation farther. "I thought you told Strappi you couldn't use a sword?"

Maladict smiled a smile that was very reminiscent of her younger, wilder self. "And what makes you think I'd tell the truth to a man like Strappi? You'd have been better off lying yourself, Ozzer."

Polly sighed. "Point taken. One more question?"

"Ask away."

"Your name is, in its short form, Demonique Maladicta Carmille Lamiana Absinthe von Übervald. What is Dominique's name?"

Maladict groaned.

"Dominique Erzsébet Melisandre Lilith Valeriana von Überwald. Our father named us both. And now you're going to ask about our father, but I can't tell you his name. He was powerful... but not as powerful as our mother, and that, I think, is why he's dead."

Polly's mouth opened, but Maladict closed it with a sudden kiss.

"No. More. Questions. You already know more than is safe for you."

Polly sighed, and leaned against Maladict's shoulder, feeling beneath her cheek the epaulettes of the new, impressive uniform. Maladict had changed, and Polly was not sure how she felt about all these changes. _My superior officer is a vampire who used to bite criminals in Quirm... and I have given her my heart, and how can I take back something I cannot reach? Do I even want my heart back, or am I just annoyed because I'm still a Sergeant? _

"Thank you for telling all this to me."

Maladict didn't answer. In a few minutes, Polly realized she had fallen asleep where she sat. Polly helped her lie down on the bed, took off her boots, and covered her with a blanket.


End file.
